The Nightmaere
by Shadowmere
Summary: Feril is the last of the shapeshifting Nightmaeres. She's on the run, dragging her dark past behind her - can an encounter with the group after the events of Weathertop give her the chance to gain something she's missed so far - friends? tenth walker
1. This

**Author's Notes**

This is my first published fanfic, so _constructive_ criticism is welcome. I use some Elvish and a bit of Black Speech in this story, so I'll leave a key at the top for each chapter.

Nervously awaiting a review (here's hoping there'll be one!),

Shadowmere x

**DISCLAIMER: You know it. I know it. If you don't know it, what are you doing here? I don't own - though not for lack of trying!**

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Sindarin/Grey Company

_Feril - _Huntress

___Amin hiraetha __-_ I'm sorry

_Nwalmaer_ - Tormented One

_Astalder -_ Valiant One

_Quel esta - _Rest well

Black speech

_Scara-Kal -_ Wolf-Horse

_Snaga - _Slave

**

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My elvish sources were:**

http: / www . elffetish . com / SindaFrame1 . php

http: / www . scribd . com / doc / 5758795 / JRR-Tolkien-Elven-Phrases

_I recommend these sites, but d__on't forget to remove the spaces!_

_**

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1. ...This'll be interesting.  
**_

As I walked quietly beneath the trees, I listened. They were whispering to me, sending news of the Ranger known as Strider - whom I had met just once, almost 40 years ago. I'd saved his life, and he mine – and four strangers who travelled with him. An enemy, that even the trees dared not name, was following them, and had injured at least one of the four; the trees had heard the scream from Weathertop. The threat came from Mordor, if they were to be believed, and was apparently not an Orc or Goblin. A Wraith, then? One of the Nine?

The air was growing noticeably colder, and I couldn't help but feel the very world warning me, carrying the cries in the air. '_Danger!'_ Every tree was screaming. The animals were fleeing, hiding wherever they could. The instincts of the multiple animals locked within my being were straining at their bars, trying to break free. '_The servants of Mordor are come!' _My aid might well be needed, if the Nine were abroad in the land again, and for some reason hunting Strider's group. I didn't much care why, and I certainly didn't want to get caught up with the Nine again… so _why_, you might ask. Why did I want to help them?

To tell the truth, I wasn't completely sure myself.

However, with a new sense of urgency, I shifted mid-stride. My body was contorting, muscles growing, bones snapping and realigning themselves until I was no longer a two-leg, but an horse. The instincts that came with the new body were stronger than before, more easily unsettled and quicker to panic. I caught sight of my reflection in a small pond nearby, and took a moment to study my appearance – living in the Wild, it wasn't often I got to look at myself, and when I changed forms it was, understandably, a little disorientating; even after all this time, and I'd lived for just over four thousand years. The images on the still water always helped me to remind myself what I was; no matter what I happened to look like at the time. Being a shape-changer, it was easy to loose yourself.

My coat was a dark dapple grey, my mane and tail the colour of iron. The grey on my body held the slightest hint of steely blue. I'd come to notice, on the rare occasion that I ventured out openly into Gondor, one of the realms of Man, in this form, that said Men thought I was a Rohirric horse. I'd never been to Rohan, but I gathered that meant they thought me superior to their horses, from the way they tried to catch me repeatedly. I did differ slightly from the ordinary horse –a feature that would have marked me as what I truly was – a Nightmaere – if anyone who knew the ancient legends happened to notice. That in itself would be a rare event. My eyes were not those of a horse, although I suppose they were similar. There was a thin black line at the edge of my iris, with no white, and silver –not grey- nearer the centre. Although it sounds very unusual, they'd only been noticed three times, and no one had actually made the leap from them to the long-forgotten tales of the fearsome Nightmaere. Around my left eye there were four scars - left from Saruman's hand - that I'd carried since being captured nearly a decade ago. I'd been dragged from Isengard to Mordor, and it had taken five years for me to put my escape plan into action. I still remembered the- I cut off that line of thought quickly, not willing to let my mind wander onto such dark topics when I was already on edge.

Strider was one of the three who _had_ noticed, incidentally, and although I'm sure he had his theories, I never revealed my true self to him. All he knew was that I was more than horse. Stories of Nightmaeres were sufficiently rare now that he could not make the jump from the clues to my true species. That was fine by me. As for the scars – I hadn't seen Strider in a little over four decades, so he had never seen them. If he had, and somehow guessed their origins… then that could have been very bad. Very, _very_ bad. That would have meant difficult questions, such as; why would Saruman torture an ordinary horse? …and the answer, as it often was, was in the question. _Was I an ordinary horse?_ Exposure, pure and simple. I was risking that now, though, wasn't I? Caught up in that worrying truth that for some reason failed to send me hurtling in the opposite direction like it probably should, I lost track of my surroundings for a moment. Mistake.

A gasp nearby caught my attention, and I remembered that I was meant to be paying attention to my search for Strider. Suitably chagrined, I looked to where the noise had come from – and came face to face with one of the strangers. He had frozen where he crouched, seemingly to dig through the plants on the forest floor.

His mouth was hanging open in shock, and I had a hard time suppressing a chuckle. Revealing I could talk in this form was not what I needed to do right now. It would bring up the awkward questions that I was –or should be- trying to avoid.

Anyway.

The person straightened, and I saw at once that it was a Halfling. I'd flown above the Shire many times in my hawk form, and always enjoyed the sight of the hobbits going about their everyday business. It was nice to know life was the same, somewhere. That Sauron hadn't yet touched the Shire, at least.

He moved slowly, as though afraid of startling me. Again, I had to quash the urge to roll my eyes. _Think horse, damn it! _I practically growled at myself. It'd been too long since I was in this form – when I was wandering alone I preferred to use my true form, or that of a two-leg **(A/N : She's not an human or an elf, so I don't think she cares which one it is. A two-leg is just a two-leg to her.)** I was out of practice.

At that second, I caught _that_ scent. The unmistakable stench that accompanied the rotting flesh of Sauron's undead servants. Ring-wraiths. _They were_ _here._

Suddenly, I was back in Isengard, being dragged towards the traitorous wizard. I was being whipped, and beaten. The very air seemed to close in around me, fighting to bring me down… and then Saruman's hand, bright with his twisted magic, gouging into my face when I tried to flee from his clutches… before being sent to his Master… I was being forced to bear that terrifying, cruel creature on my back... and I learnt the truth underneath their black cloaks. They were cursed… and so were any poor beasts they managed to get close to.

My head shot up, I threw myself onto my hind legs in a rear, and I screamed in a strangled mixture of defiance and all-encompassing, mind-numbing _fear_.

It was most definitely not a horse's scream, resembling more the shriek of the Nazgul - or the fell cry of a Nightmaere. Aw, _crap_. Me and my damn mouth. The hobbit fell back in fear, but I didn't see him – I only saw the Wraith behind him, evil blade held high. With that unnatural scream I'd practically stuck a sign on my forehead - "Runaway ex-slave Nightmaere, right here!" By the Valar, I would not go back to them. Exposure or enslavement…?

Was there even a choice?

I roared again, and leapt over his head – phasing as I did. My cloven hooves met the steel of his blade, and my fangs snapped at his face. I used my long snake-like tail and wide, bat-like wings to balance myself at my full height, holding the rear to better attack the vile creature. Somewhere behind me, I heard the Hobbit yelling for Strider, for anyone; that could be problematic. The wraith shrieked again, and with a sudden rush of strength flung me off-balance. I winced as my front-left hoof thudded onto the ground; something sharp had stabbed into the delicate skin between the claws.**(A/N: Cloven hooves are split up the middle in two toes, like a deer or a goat. The toes are called claws, according to Wikipedia.)** He used my momentary distraction to run from the clearing, leaving a stinking trail of his long-dead-and-rotten scent behind him. Wait, what? …Flee? I was a helpless target lying here on the floor, as was the dazed hobbit, sitting where he had fallen in his surprise, his back to me.

Footsteps approaching set off alarm bells in my head, and with a great deal of self-control I shrank my wings back into my shoulders, and took on the appearance of a normal horse – just in time to see Strider emerge from the trees.

"Sam, what-" He stopped to stare at me. "Impossible." He muttered, jaw practically hitting the floor. What? Had I not shifted back properly? Strider dropped to the floor beside me and the hobbit, whose expression was oddly blank. Shock, I expect it was. I blinked innocently at the stunned ranger, and moved to stand.

He frowned as he took in the blood trickling from my foreleg where I held it off of the ground. Unfortunately for me, wounds didn't heal when I shifted. They just moved. An injury between the claws on my true form; to the frog on the base of my hoof. Did he recognize me? And in answer to my question, he murmured,

"Feril?" Yeah. Yeah, he did. Well, that could be good or bad. Good, because I could express myself a little more, and bad, because he may demand an explanation as to why a horse he'd known forty years ago had suddenly turned up looking like she hadn't aged a day. Not to mention bearing horrific scars from the hand of the supposed-ally of the good, Saruman. Not that he'd actually recognize the symbolism implied – the sign of a white hand was Saruman's mark, and I had it permanently gouged into my face.

I was branded.

But truly, I _hadn't_ aged – Nightmaeres were as immortal as the elves. Still, my species wasn't something I was keen to divulge to anyone without trusting him or her completely. I'd only revealed myself once, to a grey wizard by the name of Gandalf – and that was a matter of life or death.

_You belong to Mordor, Scara-kal… Snaga..._

A strange voice in my head hissed, from nowhere. I squealed in surprise, ducking away as Strider's hand reached my head, although there was no aggression in the action. At that second, there was a sharp snap from the forest, as though a branch or twig had been broken underfoot. Both Man and Hobbit turned at the noise, and while their attention was diverted I silently leapt into the air and shifted into my hawk form. They'd have heard no more than the wind against the grass.

I was hidden out of sight in the branches of a tall tree before they could even turn around.

My foot still hurt, and I realized that it needed attention… what should I do? Shift back and risk getting captured?

I didn't have much of a choice, if I wanted to help them. And I did, to my amazement. Something in me knew how important it was that they made it to wherever they were going. …I could only hope that we succeeded.

Once Strider and the small one left, I shifted back into the horse form. Strider had christened me as 'Feril' or _Huntress_, forty years back, when I saved him from an ambush as he struggled to fight alone against three-dozen orcs. I had stayed with him for a time after that, but once we were within a half-days walk of Rivendell and I knew he would be safe, I quietly slipped away. I watched from above, though, just to be sure, as he was greeted joyfully by two identical dark-haired elves, and followed them into the peaceful sanctuary of Rivendell.

This Strider was different though, his hair streaked with silver, and his face more tired – that was on the surface, though. Deeper changes had taken place, and now there was knowledge and experience surrounding him, like a cloak. This was a Strider who had learned many things and been to many places. Perhaps this time I would reveal myself.

_Woah._ Where had _that_ come from? Our identity was the most precious thing we Nightmaeres possessed nowadays… could I possibly _trust_ Strider and his hobbit companions with that?

The next day, I would put that maybe-trust to the test.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As Strider roused the hobbits from their sleep, I steeled my nerves. I would put my trust in Strider, at least long enough for him to take a look at my foot – which was stinging with every limping step I took by now. If he didn't do anything alarming or suspicious, I would help them on their journey.

I nickered quietly, just to let him know I was there, and the Ranger's head snapped up. I noticed his hand jump to his sword hilt, though he did not draw it. He stayed very still, his posture tense; he was wound like a coiled spring, ready to act at a second's notice. It would seem the lesson from last time I'd met him was well-learnt. I nickered again, as soothingly as I could, and limped into the light.

Strider relaxed a little, though his eyes were wary. I noticed that his grey eyes kept shooting glances at the hobbits, of whom three were awake and murmuring amongst themselves. I doubted Strider could make out their conversation, but I thought I caught a couple of words… 'Frodo' and 'Rivendell'. Frodo must be the injured one, who I could just see from underneath his cloak. However, either they had a long way to go or I'd wandered further south than I'd thought. Their companion's eyes were shut, but he seemed restless and there was a strange vibe coming off him. Strider spared another glance for his companions, before heading towards me. I exhaled wearily as he drew closer, lowering my head and nickering in greeting. He reached out a hand cautiously, clearly remembering my earlier behaviour. Feeling somewhat guilty about rejecting his help before, I closed the distance and bumped his palm with my blue-grey muzzle. He stroked my cheek with a wordless acceptance of my equally silent apology, and moved to examine my hoof.

Strider quickly cleaned the wound, but murmured that he couldn't do more than that for now. It wasn't serious, just a shallow cut from a sharp rock; but horses' feet were sensitive, and it stung. He held up a rope to me, allowing me to see it clearly, asking permission. Although I wasn't too happy about it, I allowed him to fashion a make-shift head collar for me, and lead me over to a tree near the small pony. Said pony, whose name was Bill, according to Strider, was friendly enough and didn't seem to mind my strange scent – or at least he knew I meant him no harm. That was a refreshing change.

Of course, it could also be that Strider was removing several of their packs from his back and strapping them onto me instead. '_Well, if it helps…_' I muttered to myself, willing my body not to fight the harness of ropes Strider had conjured up from somewhere to hold the packs in place. He left a gap where a rider could sit, though, and moved up to my head. He spoke quietly in elvish to me, whispering in my ear,

"Will you carry Frodo? I would have to tie him to your back, so that he doesn't fall…" I snorted in acknowledgment, and nodded slightly. Two-legs always rambled on unnecessarily. Nightmaeres as a species were far more straightforward and to-the-point. We resembled dwarves in that area. Strider, however, seemed to understand unconsciously, and kept it short. That The ranger stroked my muzzle in thanks, before heading back to get Frodo. The other hobbits edged closer while Strider secured their friend to my back, and stared at me. It was kind of unnerving, and I shifted uneasily.

"Peace, hobbits. This is Feril, and she is a friend of mine." I nickered in agreement, feeling a warm glow at the word 'friend' – even if it was used to calm the hobbits. I tried my best to sound soothing. The one who'd seen me phase, Sam, narrowed his eyes slightly, but appeared to remember who it was that had saved him from death-by-wraith – speaking of which, why hadn't he told Strider about seeing me shift? Strange…

Anyhow, soon the little one was tied firmly to my back. His cold hand wound itself into my mane, and Strider handed the lead rope to one of the other hobbits. I think his name was… Peep? Pip? Pa-

"Come on Pippin!" The blond one called back. That's the one - _Pippin._

"I _am_! He won't move!" Oops, not paying attention- Wait, _what?_ I snorted in annoyance, and glared at the hobbit.

"That's 'cause _he's _a _she,_ you idiot!" I think I like this blond one. Pippin, on the other hand…

"Sorry!" He seemed sincere, so I nickered and began to walk forward.

…It was going to be a long few weeks.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

I sniffed the air. It'd been a week and a half, and the hobbit on my back was worsening. He spent more and more time slumped over my neck, and Strider was worried. He was close to asking me to take Frodo to Imladris myself, I could tell.

It made me uneasy, the constant proximity to the wraiths. They were closing in on us. Time was running out.

Strider and Sam had gone to gather more herbs, and Merry and Pippin were watching over Frodo. I was tethered next to Bill, and I _really_ didn't want to be. Something was approaching. A two-leg, riding… Heading in the direction Strider had disappeared in. I squealed in alarm when I vaguely heard the sound of a blade being drawn. Pippin rushed over to me, trying to quiet me down, but I wasn't paying attention. Forget the two-leg, _the Nine were coming!_ Their scent was getting stronger! And I was _stuck_, tied up with a load of ropes and sacks on my back. I couldn't phase with this lot on my back, and especially not with a head collar on! It's just one of those magical-law-things. That's why it took me five years to escape Mordor, for Eru's sake! I was _not_ about to get stuck again. I strained on the rope, coming up to rest on my hind legs and striking out with my forelegs; anything to communicate the danger to the hobbit who was now reaching for my head collar.

I quieted a little, allowing him to get a grip on it – but he didn't take it off. He just pulled on it, trying to move me closer to the startled pony.

"Pippin?" Oh thank the _Valar! Strider!_ He wasn't alone, either. Another two-leg, an elf maiden, was with him. She had dark-hair, and I suppose she was beautiful by two-leg standards. She was leading a great white destrier. He had wise, dark eyes, and seemed to understand the urgency that I felt, for he too was jittery – but he was exhausted, too. I suspected they'd been running to catch us for a while.

Strider rushed over to us; Pippin firmly pulling on my lead rope and me straining away with wild silver eyes. He took the rope from the relieved hobbit, and reached out a hand to sooth me. The elleth also came over, her eyes curious and worried. She murmured a few words in elvish, before hurrying over to the hobbits – Sam had just returned, and seemed to be taking everything in stride. The ranger had secured me to the branch once again, and headed off after the elleth. I couldn't help but overhear their conversation – The elf, Arwen, wanted to take Frodo and make a dash for Rivendell, but her stallion Asfaloth was too tired from their journey. Aragorn – as she called Strider, so I gathered that was his real name – wanted to take Frodo and make a dash for Rivendell too – now they were arguing about who was faster. Their conversation was in both common and elvish, and Sam had gathered enough to know that someone would be taking Frodo – _on me._ 'Nice of them to ask', I grouched to myself as the hobbit fumbled with the sacks and bags still secured to my back. It really didn't matter which one rode me, because I could manage the journey with either of them. With the wraiths on our tail though, it might be better with the lighter rider; meaning Arwen, the elleth. They were apparently coming to the same conclusion. Sam removed the head collar after Arwen moved over to us and it became apparent that _she _would indeed be riding me.

"Will you take us to Imladris, Lady Feril? We must make haste, and Asfaloth cannot run at such a speed right now. We are in need of your-" I interrupted her eloquent but frankly unnecessary stream of elvish with a sharp nod, and bent to my knees. She mounted lightly, and with Aragorn's aid settled Frodo in front of her. She nudged my sides, but I didn't shift. She needed to know how it was going to be.

"Please, go!" I whinnied in agreement, and broke into a flat out gallop towards Rivendell. She apparently wasn't expecting me to have such speed, because she hurriedly tightened her grip on the hobbit and on my mane.

'Here we go again…' I thought as five wraiths broke cover to race right behind me. I vaguely heard Arwen calling for me to go faster, and I snorted before complying. I couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for the black beasts carrying the Ringwraiths – I knew what that felt like, and it wasn't pleasant. The crazy elleth on my back completely lost her head, starting to shriek at me to go even _faster._ Seriously? What did she _think_ I was _trying_ to do? Geez… There was a river in sight now, though, and from what I discerned between the more incomprehensible yells, once we reached the other side we'd be safe. That was all well and good, but I was starting to worry about this elleths mental wellbeing… Then again, knowing what I did about those riders behind us, I guess I could understand.

I fled towards the river for dear life, fuelled by my fearful memories more than the desperate elleth on my back. The five black horses were right behind me, but once my exhausted feet touched the icy water they slowed. The leader of the Nazgul, the Witch-King of Angmar, kicked his horse forward a few paces into the wide river. I was too busy scrambling up the stony bank to pay much attention, but Arwen was – and she definitely hadn't tightened her grip on sanity any, either.

"If you want him, come and claim him!" She snarled. 'Okay, She's growing on me.' I reared, roaring my agreement. 'What can I say? Guess I'm not too stable either.'

They didn't react verbally, instead pushing their poor mounts further into the water. They were coming for Frodo – which begged the question; _why?_ I said before that I didn't much care… but that didn't mean I wasn't curious. Not curious enough, however, that I'd hang around and _ask_ them. I spun and made to race away, but Arwen hissed at me in elvish.

"Stop!" If I'd totally lost hold of my senses, I might as well find out why she was so sure we were safe - so I completed the spin to face the stinking creatures once more. Frodo was conscious again, and his wriggling was getting pretty damn uncomfortable, for me _and_ the elf. Luckily, we were all distracted at that moment, because otherwise I may have just bucked them both off and be done with it. The distraction came in the form of an unnatural wave, picking up speed and literally mowing down the wraiths where they stood. As soon as they were out of sight and their gargled shrieks had faded away, the nervous tension that had held Frodo upright, and given him the strength to fight Arwen's hold drained from him. He slumped over my neck, and I heard the elleth calling to him, begging him not to give in. She chanted some words, something about giving him whatever she had… but I wasn't listening. A group of two-legs were coming our way, and my energy was spent. I tottered a little, and Arwen seemed to remember that _she_ hadn't just carried two people miles and miles in a high-speed pursuit. The elleth hurriedly leapt off of my back, the hobbit held firmly in her arms.

I nickered quietly in thanks, and she rested her forehead against my own. At that moment, two identical dark-haired elves reached us, faces drawn in concern. They seemed familiar, and I wondered if they were the same two I'd once seen greet Strider/Aragorn. Right behind them was another elf, this one blonde-haired and tall. There was something about him that was _Other_. His face grew worried once he saw me, and he turned to Arwen.

"Where is Asfaloth?" He growled. Ah, so she'd _stolen_ Asfaloth? Borrowed, perhaps? I snorted in amusement. Definitely crazy.

"With Estel. He was tired, while Feril here was not. He is fine." She soothed him in a rapid flurry of elvish. Estel? How many names did Aragorn _have,_ exactly? I noticed that the elleth too was weary – but she was too busy helping the new arrivals, who had quickly followed the first three and were now crouched over Frodo. The first ones were quickly making their way over to me, where I stood a few horse-lengths away. I snorted warily as one of the twins reached for my mane, and jerked away. It wasn't that I didn't trust them, per say… but-

"She will only do anything if asked first. Lady Feril knows her mind." Arwen called over. I nodded in agreement.

"Please, lady Feril, will you allow us to-"

'Oh, for goodness _sake._' These creatures were so long-winded. They may even rival the Ents! I rolled my silver eyes and took a step towards the blonde one, who had yet to waffle nonsense at me. He seemed to understand, because he laid a hand on my muzzle and murmured quietly,

"Please, follow me." I nickered, and took another step. _Ow!_ My injured foot, that I hadn't even noticed in my desperate flight, had begun bleeding again. I limped alongside the blonde-haired elf, trying not to draw attention to it.

"In here, please- what happened to your foot?" Oh, damn. I snorted, trying to downplay it. It really wasn't _that_ bad… the long ride had probably just made it sore, that's all. Blondie gave me a look as though to say, 'yeah, and I'm an orc.' But he didn't fight me on it, instead opening a stall and motioning for me to go inside. I complied, but wasn't expecting him to follow me in.

I sent him a quizzical look, but he just smiled and reached for a blanket.

He treated my wound, shallow as it was, and brushed the grime of the long journey from my coat. He brushed out my mane and tail, too, but that part was decidedly unpleasant. As he worked, he talked.

His name was Glorfindel, and he was Lord Elrond's seneschal. Unlearned as I was in the ways of two-legs, I had no idea what that even meant… but I figured the way the other elves were calling him 'Lord' meant that he was pretty important. I also figured that meant he didn't need to take care of me himself.

After he was done, he made to leave. I nickered slightly, hoping that Strider would remember to come get me once he got here… I didn't want to spend the rest of my immortal life trapped in Imladris, pleasant though it apparently was. Glorfindel turned back to say goodbye, and then he froze. I snorted in alarm, and he reached a hand slowly to trace the scars on my face.

I squealed in fear, and wheeled away from him. Simultaneously, Glorfindel cried out, clutching at his hand as though I had burned him. The memory of the pain was so strong, I almost lashed out in the direction his soothing voice was coming from. At the last instant I regained control of the instinct, and allowed him to approach.

"I'm sorry, Feril. I'm sorry… amin hiraetha, Nwalmaer."

I sighed, calm again, and shoved him a little with my nose. It was one of the times when I truly wished I could risk revealing my true self. I'd love to speak with Lord Glorfindel properly, and tell him it was okay. He seemed to feel really bad about it… what on earth had he seen? He… he didn't _know_, did he? Even if he didn't… he would soon. That knowledge sent a thrill of genuine fear through my gut.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond, Astalder. Saruman's treachery is an important thing to consider. Quel esta."

Oh, _bugger_. Tomorrow was going to be another interesting day.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review so I know if you want to read more! Next chapter's almost finished, but if no one liked it... :'( Well, I'll post anyway, but still!

_No, I'm not above begging. PLEASE REVIEW!_


	2. Well, that was unexpected

**Author Notes**

YAAAY! I got some reviews! I feel loved! Thanks to my first ever reviewers, **Lala Shaknmu, cjsl8ne, LoveYouToDeath14, stabbythings **and **LadyDoroAnne!** I'm pleased you liked it ^.^ I'll be updating as much as I can, but school starts up in a few days, so I'll be slower. Sorry in advance!

I just realized I forgot to put in a disclaimer – **I don't own Lord of the Rings, or anything to do with Middle Earth, despite my best efforts! Feril and her backstory are mine, though!**

There's a nod to a favourite character of mine in here somewhere (not from LOTR). Brownie points to anyone who can find it and tell me who it is, from what.

(Mwahaha. An evil plan that will force readers into reviewing :])

Shadowmere x

Elvish

_Feril - _Huntress

_Ira ten' rashwe! – _Be careful!

**My elvish sources were:**

http: / www . elffetish . com / SindaFrame1 . php

http: / www . scribd . com / doc / 5758795 / JRR-Tolkien-Elven-Phrases

_I recommend these sites, but don't forget to remove the spaces!_

_**2. Well, that was unexpected.**_

I awoke to an eruption of noise in the courtyard outside. There were many voices; both elven and hobbit – and I even detected a familiar Man's voice, too - Aragorn!

The stable door was thrown open, and I found myself staring at two familiar faces; Sam and Bill! I neighed a greeting, startling both little ones as they searched for an empty stall. The one opposite my own was free, so Bill was soon munching away on the sweet hay provided. Sam looked over his shoulder at me, as though he wanted to say something; but at that moment Merry appeared in the doorway.

"Come on, Sam! We've got to go find Frodo!" He called with a relieved smile. That's a thought. I honestly hoped the little guy was going to be alright; that said, I had a feeling that his troubles had just begun. I didn't know Aragorn or any of the hobbits well, but I _did_ know that whatever they were doing was important.

I'd made a decision.

Through the gap behind him, I could see Aragorn walking away with Lord Elrond, quickly followed by the Twins and Glorfindel. Arwen was talking with Pippin, who was staring at her with barely concealed awe. I fought off a snort of amusement, nodding to Sam in acknowledgment – he already knew I was most definitely not a horse, so why bother hiding it – as he turned to follow his friend.

An hour of dozing later, I was woken by an elf barging –if elves can barge- into my stall. Nothing much happened; he just checked on my hoof, proclaimed it perfectly fine in a somewhat suspicious tone, and marched out again. Random.

The rest of the day was dull. The sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky, and was almost setting by the time anything actually happened.

'This,' I thought as I stared at Bill, who was still contentedly eating his way through Rivendell's entire stock of hay, 'is going to kill me. Forget Orcs and Goblins, the spawn of Mordor have nothing on being stuck in a stable…' I knew I was talking rubbish, but it alleviated the boredom a little.

I didn't dare phase and go find something to do, because Lord Glorfindel had promised to return, I was sure Aragon wanted the chance to figure me out, and Sam… Sam probably wanted to interrogate me after that little display in the forest. As desperate as I was to dodge that bullet… yeah, I needed to find out what was going on more. So, back to pony-watch it was, at least for now.

As it happened, they all came together. Aragorn, Lord Glorfindel, the Twins – who I'd learned were named Elladan and Elrohir - and Lord Elrond walked in a little after noon. Sam slipped in behind them – he quietly snuck into Bill's stall. I watched the lot of them approach, looking very regal and dignified and all – even the Man, who I'd become accustomed to seeing in the rugged outfit of a Ranger – and neighed softly in greeting. Aragorn immediately reached out a hand to stroke the side of my cheek, and I nickered in a more private welcome. Lord Glorfindel, I noticed, kept his distance, and his eyes were more wary than before. I sighed.

The starry gaze of Lord Elrond was sharp, intelligent… knowing. He locked on to my silver eyes straightaway, and I could practically see the cogs turning in his mind… His reaction was not as explosive as I'd have expected.

For someone discovering one of a race notorious for their support of anything that stirred up trouble which was thought long extinct, was not only alive, but currently being stroked by your foster-son… Personally, I would have started yelling, but hey; what did I know of elves?

He did tense up however, and say in a sharp tone,

"Estel, tira ten' rashwe!" Aragorn's head snapped up with a look of confusion, but he backed away from me immediately. Glorfindel also frowned, but Lord Elrond gave him a _look_. I'd seen silent communication before, don't get me wrong – I'd lived in the Wild among animals for a long time – but this was something _Other_, like the elves themselves. This was a conversation in a single glance.

To this day I still do not understand how they did it.

Dawning comprehension covered the blonde's face. He got it, alright.

Lord Elrond stepped forward cautiously, as though trying not to scare a skittish animal; or as though he was frightened I would try and attack him or something. That would have made me frown, if the horse's body had been able to do such a thing. I put the disapproval into my eyes instead.

I knew they'd know about Nightmaeres, but why were they acting like I was the spawn of Sauron himself? We weren't evil as a species… merely easily bored, and mischievous.

"Whom do you serve?" He asked coolly, and I blinked once in complete shock.

_What?_

Serve? They thought… They thought Saruman had _broken_ me? ...I see. Then Glorfindel couldn't have seen my escape from Mordor; only my capture. They couldn't understand that I escaped at all… let alone with my sanity intact.

Wincing at the though of the innocent hobbit eavesdropping on this conversation, I answered slowly.

"I serve no one. I am free to do as I will." As one, Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir's mouths dropped open. At any other time their synchronicity would have been amusing. Not right now.

"I mean you no harm. I would have hoped that my actions up to now proved that." I snapped, getting frustrated with the dumbstruck expressions. "Lord Elrond. I carried your daughter and the hobbit here safely, despite having five of the Nine Ring wraiths on my heels. What else must I do?" I was very deliberately avoiding eye-contact with Aragorn. I could picture it; his confused, shocked expression quickly becoming disgusted and betrayed.

Do not misunderstand me, I didn't like Aragorn in a romantic sense – I enjoyed his company, and wanted him to trust me; I wanted to have a friend in him, and be one for him.

Romance was an impossible concept for me. I'd been betrothed since birth, and he had later perished; along with the vast majority of our kind.

Sauron does not spare those who resist him.

Still, it didn't seem like too much to ask for. To have one friend. Nightmaeres were few and far between; since my parents were killed in front of me, I had never seen another.

The elf-lord before me was studying me again… though, to my relief, he no longer seemed suspicious. I knew that I wasn't an angel, and I carried the burdens of my past with me, but I would never give my mind over to the darkness. Never.

So while it was of no surprise to me when Lord Elrond nodded and gave me a small smile.

What was surprising were his next words.

"What other forms can you become, Lady Feril?"

I know he was an elf, and so couldn't be held to the same standards of my kind, but I could help but snarl my reply.

"That's a rather personal question, Lord Elrond."

Nightmaeres' different forms depended on their age and their character. They were very personal things. It just _wasn't_ something you asked one outright.

I knew that was unfair, but hey. I was over four thousand years old. I was allowed to be a little bit of a bitch now and again. "However, since you are an elf and do not know our customs, I will forgive you."

The lot of them were now staring at me in a wide-eyed mixture of horror and awe; besides the two elf-lords, who seemed to accept that they'd insulted me somewhere along the line. Ah, the courage of a Nightmaere – to reply such to the Lord of the House. Well, either courage or a distinct lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. I didn't pause to wonder which one it was, I was just glad I had it. Given three of the five were too stunned to comment, and the other two were trying to figure out exactly what to say to that, I decided to answer the first question anyway.

"I can take the form of a two-leg – that's an elf or human, to you – an horse, a wolf, a falcon, and my own natural form. Before you ask, no, I will not show you right now." Diplomacy was a beautiful thing. Unfortunately, it wasn't something my kind were known for.

Ah, well.

"If you were to take the form of a... two-leg, then we could provide you with a more comfortable living arrangement." Lord Elrond pointed out wryly, apparently not minding my blatant lack of respect. Damn elf.

"I suppose. Do you mind?" They all looked at me quizzically. "It's not like my clothes pop in and out of existence when I shift, you know." They did, actually; my weapons, too.

It was fun watching them look around uncomfortably, though.

I chuckled. "Relax. I was joking - I would appreciate you looking away, though. It may... disturb you." I remembered the first time I saw my parents shift... it was... something you didn't forget in a hurry. No wonder poor Sam had gone into shock.

The elves were still trying to find a suitable reply, and Aragorn looked as though torn between confusion and... no, just confusion. The Twins had finally caught up with the elf-lords, and were staring at me with renewed awe. I stared back at them.

"-so if you don't mind...?" Lord Elrond recovered quickly, and spun around to head back into the courtyard again. When his sons showed no signs of following him, he turned with a sigh, and dragged Aragorn out by the arm. The Twins followed, muttering to each other. Lord Glorfindel was the last to leave.

"What is your real name, Lady Nightmaere?" He asked quietly. I regarded him coolly. Another personal question. My, my.

"I don't remember my birth name. Aragorn christened me Feril, the Huntress, so Feril I will be; at least for now."

He nodded calmly, clearly not buying it, and turned on his heel. I watched with appraising eyes as he followed the others out the door.

I stared at the closed door for a moment, debating whether I should just use the opportunity to get the hell out of there.

My rumbling stomach decided it. No matter what Bill might have to say about it, hay does _not_ count as decent food.

The shift to a two-leg was more uncomfortable than the other way round; feeling your bones breaking and splintering, shifting beneath your skin. It burnt, and the pain made me gasp. Shifting was like that; familiar and alien at the same time, and no matter how many times I did it I could never say I enjoyed the experience.

Finally, the shift was complete.

Weakly, wincing as I was forced to use my sore muscles, I dragged myself over to the pail of water that stood forgotten in the corner. Though the water was murky and had bits of straw floating on the surface, it would suit my needs.

The scars were more prominent on my fair elven face than any other, as this was the form the wounds were inflicted on. I grimaced at the jagged silver lines. I reached into a pouch at my waist, marveling at the magic of my kind. Everything was still there, in the same condition as before. My curved black daggers and bow were still slung across my back in the elven fashion, and the various other weapons hidden on my person were there still. My black hair was matted, and hung to my waist, and my silver eyes were framed with dark lashes. All in all, the same as before.

My legs felt uncomfortably weak as I forced them to support me. For a moment, I thought they would loose the ability to hold me upright, and that I would end up tumbling down onto the stony floor, but they held. As I stood there, clinging to the door of the stall, my legs finally began to regain their normal strength.

It was time to go outside and face Lord Elrond's curiosity. Not to mention the unpredictable, possibly hostile elves of Rivendell.

I wasn't quite sure which one I was dreading the most.

**Please Review!**


	3. AN  Temporary Hiatus

Hello? (Echoes)

Is anyone there?

I'm so, so sorry for not updating! D: real life's really complicated at the moment; lots of exams on the way in a few weeks! I haven't been able to work on The Nightmaere, and now my inspiration is hiding from me .

Unfortunately this means the story will be on temporary hiatus until I get some time to work on it properly. Sorry again, and thank you for bearing with me (if anyone is still here, that is.)

Shadowmere x


	4. AN  STILL ALIVE!

Hello, if anyone is still there! Just a quick note to say that this story is now no longer up for adoption! I've finished my exams (go me! :D) and now have the whole summer to write! Thank you for bearing with me!

Shadowmere xxx


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